Chapter Eight: The Bear and the Dog Lord

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Now, as for this Black Bandit, on this day, in a desperate bid to escape the bear’s pursuit, he ran recklessly forward until he reached the edge of a cliff. Sitting there, he sighed deeply, feeling that his life’s fate was likely sealed at this very spot.

Although the evening was already late, the scenery here was still quite pleasant. So he decided, for the moment, to sit atop the mountain and take in the surrounding sights: trees blooming with large clusters of red flowers, great fish dancing gracefully in the long river below, and the birds’ melodies sounding like heavenly music.

“I can’t just sit here any longer. What if I fall? That would be the end of me. No, I have to go back,” the Black Bandit thought anxiously. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he stood up, intending to retreat. But then he spotted a dark figure approaching, growling fiercely as if cursing someone’s mother.

“Oh no, this is it. The black bear has caught up. What am I to do? If I fight it head-on, there’s no way I can win. Run? But where could I possibly run to now?” Sitting atop the mountain, the Black Bandit was drenched in cold sweat, trembling like a leaf about to wither in the autumn wind.

The black bear had arrived, panting and growling continuously. Its small eyes suggested a narrow temper.

The bear stood upright, emitting a series of unbearable cries—half curses, half threats—directed at the Black Bandit.

“Oh no, it’s about to pounce! If it bites me, even just lightly, I’m done for,” the Bandit thought in terror.

“Grandpa, how are you?” he asked tremblingly, trying to greet the bear.

The bear roared angrily and then slapped the Bandit across the face.

“Grandpa, your strike is justified,” the Bandit said humbly. Upon hearing this, the bear seemed to calm down somewhat.

Yet the Black Bandit was far from safe. Playing dead was no longer a viable option; the bear was no fool.

Suddenly, the bear defecated a large, filthy pile of excrement. The bear’s expression turned sour upon seeing it, clearly disgusted with its own mess.

Desperate to survive, the Bandit had no choice but to smear the bear’s excrement onto his own face. Without a mirror, it might have been bearable, but seeing himself reflected would surely be horrifying.

Seeing the Bandit’s pitiful state, the bear covered its mouth and began to vomit repeatedly. The Bandit, shameless to the extreme, proceeded to eat the bear’s vomit.

“Damn you!” the bear cursed at him. The reason for such anger was obvious—how could a being lack all self-respect to the point of eating such filth just to survive? Surely, the bear’s curses were justified.

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With no other recourse, the bear covered its nose, continued muttering crude insults in broken words, and quietly left. Meanwhile, the Black Bandit, from the cliff’s edge, found a long vine and fled.

The deserted village remained peaceful, smoke rising from chimneys, the long river setting beneath the sun, painting a pastoral scene.

Shaoqiu sat in his dilapidated house, with nowhere else to go. He read books, but reading alone was no solution—he needed to sustain himself.

He climbed the mountain to tend to his large field, a rich patch of farmland. Overcome with joy, he bent down and kissed the fertile soil.

With this field, Shaoqiu’s future worries about food and clothing would vanish. Indeed, the grain stalks in the field seemed to nod in agreement.

The sun hung low over the mountain. After clearing some weeds, the sun was almost set. Could it not linger longer? Such fine days should not pass so swiftly.

At that moment, a woman appeared—more precisely, a middle-aged woman. For some unknown reason, she crouched before him, holding up her pants. The sight made Shaoqiu’s heart race, though he dared not act. She did not speak to him; if she had, perhaps there would be some hope. But silence left him at a loss.

Shaoqiu dared not approach or do anything, though inwardly he yearned greatly. He was uncertain what to do. Should he approach and say a few words, or pretend not to see and continue tending his field?

He did not know. Yet the thought of Xiaohua and her ways swept away all improper desires, leaving only the determination to work.

Seeing Shaoqiu not come forward, the woman stood and adjusted her pants, speaking shameless words. Shaoqiu had his own way of dealing with it—simply pretending not to hear.

Night slowly descended over the mountain. No people, no birdsong—only the howling wind sweeping through the wild grasses, producing a mournful sound.

Shaoqiu slung his hoe over his shoulder, glanced at the clouds glowing like fiery blossoms—vivid as peach blossoms in early spring—lifting his spirits. Against the mountainside, he even hummed a little tune.

Back in his home, he cooked and ate, then sat by the window, gazing at the fields and distant trees.

The wind carried the sound of the river flowing eastward. Listening to this meditative river song cheered Shaoqiu’s heart, though he felt life was too lonely and bleak. If only his parents were still alive—where had they gone?

Shaoqiu did not know.

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At that moment, there was a knock at the door. The sound was soft, yet in the stillness of the deserted village night, even a quiet knock was quite loud.

“Damn you! Come out! I’m going to kill you!” someone shouted outside, their voice chilling in the night.

The shouter was none other than Dog Lord, who for some unknown reason stood before Shaoqiu’s door, shouting for a fight. Was he challenging Shaoqiu to a duel this night?

At the thought of Dog Lord, Shaoqiu trembled. That afternoon, Shaoqiu had gone to the riverbank to cut firewood—surprisingly, there was plenty of brushwood, perfect for burning once dried.

Dog Lord was also there. Upon seeing Shaoqiu, he spat and cursed, “Son of a—!”

Hearing this enraged Shaoqiu profoundly; his dignity had been gravely insulted. He charged at Dog Lord, and the two fought by the riverbank.

Dog Lord was a massive figure, overpowering Shaoqiu easily. He lifted Shaoqiu and threw him into the river.

If Shaoqiu had not known how to swim, that throw could have cost him his life. Fortunately, he grabbed a drifting tree trunk from upstream. Dog Lord, relentless, leaped back from the shore and grappled with Shaoqiu in the water.

Shaoqiu’s frail frame could not withstand Dog Lord’s blows; after several strikes, his head was pressed underwater, forcing him to swallow much river water. Worse still, he felt deeply humiliated under the watching crowd.

After beating Shaoqiu in the river, Dog Lord did not deliver a fatal blow, but made him drink a great deal of water—a shameful chapter in Shaoqiu’s life. What could be done now?

Dog Lord dragged Shaoqiu ashore and hurled more vile insults at him, leaving Shaoqiu gasping in the riverbed. How could he ever face anyone again?

More terrifying was that the onlookers on both banks lifted Dog Lord up and tossed him high into the air, treating him like a hero. This only deepened Shaoqiu’s shame.

After the beating, Shaoqiu sat alone by the river, staring at the flowing water, his mood heavy. Just then, a child approached, imitating Dog Lord’s actions, trying to throw Shaoqiu into the river.

After a while, unable to toss him, the child gave up. Shaoqiu’s anger flared, but he saw the child’s father glaring fiercely, clearly holding no regard for a loser.

Shaoqiu dared not fight an adult, so he did nothing, sitting by the river and sighing long over life’s injustice and the decay of human kindness. What else could he do?